


wash it away

by stilessexual



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2016-11-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 21:08:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8593861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stilessexual/pseuds/stilessexual
Summary: Every story has a beginning. This is how Stiles and Derek met. This is how it started. 
A Hawaii Five-0 AU.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written or kept up with the fandom in years but I found this on an old memory stick and my heart feels three times its size because I used to be so in love with both Teen Wolf and Hawaii Five-0. This baby is almost four years old but I thought I'd share it anyways.

“I actually don’t understand the necessity of this?” He flailed his hands, and worked to tap down on his mounting irritation. He wasn’t successful, but it’s the thought that counts. “I don’t like the beach. Or the sand. Or the fact that sand tends to get into places where sand should never get. Lydia, so help me god, if you don’t stop looking at me like I’m something you’d find at the bottom of your shoe—

“Lower your voice,” she hissed, eyes scanning the _empty_ shore. “We’ve gone over this a thousand times, Stiles, Jackson’s job—

“It’s funny,” he interrupted, chuckling humorlessly “I mean, it is fucking hilarious, you keep talking about his job and how important it is like I’m suddenly going to start giving a fuck. Which I won’t, just you know, FYI.”

“You’re being irrational.” She snarled, “This place is good for us. The island has good schools and Erica is fitting in well.”

“No, see, there must be something in the water!” he waved his hands, hoping that’d push her towards understanding. “We are in Hawai’i.” He slowed down, and lowered his voice deliberately over enunciating every word. “We. Are. In. Hawai’i.”

“I’m not an idiot, Stiles.” She closed her eyes. He knew his ex-wife enough to know that she was counting backwards and imagining pretty fluffy things. Rainbows. Unicorns. Burying the cold dead body of her ex-husband. “I know this was a huge sacrifice on your end, with what having to transfer and all.”

He scrubbed his face roughly, leaving Beacon Hills –his dad, his childhood home, his job –to follow his ex-wife, her new husband, and his baby girl nearly cleaned him out hollow. It left a sort of ache in his chest that only elevated near his daughter’s smile. He did this for her. Erica.  

“A cop’s a cop wherever,” he grumbled sullenly into his hands, “What’re we even yelling about? I’m yelling at you again, fuck, I’m sorry for yelling at you.” He looked up to find her staring him with that too-knowing keen glint in her eyes. “What? What’s that face? Jesus, why are you looking at me like that?”

“You like it here,” her smile spread feral like a cats’ –or a tiger or something that could possibly swallow him whole.

“Do not.” He replied, aghast. “I do not. I hate this miserable pineapple infested rock.”

“Of course you do, dear.” She smiled sweetly, “Would like a cup of tea?” She asked, turning back into the house.

“What? Jesus Christ, you are a sociopath.” he muttered under his breath, as he followed her into the stupid mansion-manor thing that his ex-wife called home. “Of course, _dear_ , I’d love a cup of tea.”

~*~*~*~

Hours later, they were laughing and slapping each other’s arms. He knew it was just a momentary calm before the Next Big Fight that’d leave their baby girl as the only collateral, but he’d take it. He’d take anything from Lydia, really, and that’s probably what got them in this god damn mess in the first place. He was busy having his own little pity party when his phone rang, startling them both.

“Stilinski,” he said into the receiver, he watched her watch him as he hummed yeses and affirmatives into the phone. “Yeah, I’ll be right there.”

“Problem?” she asked, already collecting the tea cups. It was like watching her clear up the debris after a car crash. _This_ , this was Lydia collecting herself. This was Lydia reminding herself exactly why she left him. She left because of calls like that, calls that came every day, calls that woke them in the middle of the night. She left him because she couldn’t handle holding Stiles through another panic attack, with someone else’s name was on his lips –someone he couldn’t save, someone he didn’t get to in time.

“It’s nothing.” He lied, and it hurt his stomach. “Same old, same old.”

~*~*~*~

_“It’s three in the morning, Stiles.” Lydia wrapped a robe tightly around herself, as she watched Stiles holster his gun._

_“I know, babe” he whispered, “I’m sorry, they found a body down at—_

_“I don’t give a shit,” she hissed suddenly furious, she slashed a hand through the air when he opened his mouth to speak. “Tomorrow’s your daughter’s dance recital. Are you going to be there? Or are you going to miss it like the last time? Or maybe, you’ll get shot and end up in the hospital. Again. Or no, wait. I’ll have to tell our child that daddy lost too much blood and—_

_“Lydia,” his voice was still hoarse with sleep, and he desperately tried to keep it lowered because Erica was a light sleeper. He desperately needed to calm Lydia down before her mounting hysteria turned into a full blown fight. “Do you think I want this to happen? Do you think I want to miss—?_

_“Yes,” she hissed, “I think you get off on every second of it!”_

_Every thought of keeping the peace flew out of his mind._

_“How fucking dare—_

_“Shut up,” she covered her eyes, and he’s known Lydia long enough to recognize the quiver in her voice, the one that came right before she cried. “I’m tired, Stiles. I’m so tired. Just go.”_

_“Lydia—_

_“Please. Please. Go.”_

~*~*~*~

His daughter had her mother’s soft strawberry blonde locks and freckles from cheek to cheek. Erica was impressively sharp for a kid who was only seven years old but she wasn’t biting or bitter in the way her parents were. She didn’t have Lydia’s unforgiving cynicism, or Stiles constant unrelenting anger with the entire world. Not yet, not if they ever had a say in the matter. She had long lashes, and wide eyes that watched and watched and watched. She had a soft voice, and said words like “ma’am” and “sir” and very rarely cried. For all their faults, Stiles and Lydia tried to do right by their daughter. They tried to keep her from seeing everything they’ve seen. They tried to keep her sheltered, and safe and young for as long as they could.  

His daughter was the furthest thing away from the woman she was named after. Erica, Officer Erica Reyes and his partner since the police academy had been reckless, occasionally out-of-her-mind-crazy and so, _so_ heartbreakingly beautiful. Reyes had been his best friend and his solace from Lydia when they couldn’t breathe near each other.

Nearly eight years ago he’d watched, helpless and small and pathetic, when she had a mag emptied into her stomach.    

~*~*~*~

_“Let her go,” Stiles was begging and crying, and for the first time in his life he didn’t give a fuck. Erica was bleeding out and he was tied up and fuck—_

_“Or what?” the man snarled, gun reflecting light from the blub that hung overhead._

_“Please,” Stiles whispered, eyes fixed on his dying partner. “Please, please god please let her go.”_

_“It’s okay,” she breathed, smiling softly. “Stiles, it’s okay. We’re okay.”_

_“No,” he choked, pulling against the ropes around his wrist. “No. Erica. NO!”_

~*~*~*~

 “Who the hell are you?”

A gun was pointed at Stiles. A gun, an actual gun was pointed at Stiles. He didn’t even do anything yet, for the sake of fuck. They were in the house of some poor bastard who got his brains blown out all over the walls of his garage earlier that week, all because some psycho bitch had problems with his son or something.

He honest to god didn’t know the exact details. Despite being the leading detective on the case, HPD made sure to continue to make his miserable life more of a living hell.

“Who am I?” Stiles yelled at the man, his own gun pointed back at the guy. “Who the fuck are you?”

“Lieutenant Commander Derek Hale,” the man, Derek, shouted. “Who. Are. You.”

“Detective Stiles Stilinski,” Stiles replied, scathingly “Show us an I.D, princess.”

“Fuck you,” Derek huffed, keeping his gun raised while reaching towards his pocket. He flashed an I.D and Stiles vaguely read the name before it was back in his pocket. “Now yours.”

“You show me yours, I show you mine?” Stiles grinned, holstering his gun because there was no reason to resort to violence. He flashed his own badge, and then realized with a plummeting heart that this was _Derek Hale_ as in the guy who just lost his dad. This was the room where Derek Hale’s father, Officer Michael Hale was painted all over the walls.

There were still splatters on the fucking walls, holy mother of fuck, shout out to the cleanup crew.   

“Hey, man.” He said, softly. “I’m sorry for your loss, but you can’t be here. This is an active crime scene.”  

 “Doesn’t look too active,” He snapped, making a gesture around the empty room. Stiles bit down on a bitchy reply. The man’s father was just killed, Stiles could be sensitive. Lydia obviously didn’t know shit.

“I’m working on it,” he replied slowly. The truth was, the HPD wasn’t too happy with having a _haole_ on the force and were being a general pain in Stiles’ white ass.

“I don’t care,” was Derek’s oh so eloquent reply. “This is my case now,”

“What?” Stiles sputtered, “Excuse me for a fucking second, but what? What does that even mean?”

Derek slowly smiled. It was terrifying.  

~*~*~*~

_“Governor,” Derek snarled, “with all due respect, I’m not leading your dumbass task force.”_

_“And why’s that, Derek?” Deaton asked with a soft smile. “I think the position would suit you very well.”_

_“You think I have time for this?” Derek snapped, the flat of his hand landing on the desk with a sharp smack. “Kate Argent’s not to be underestimated, she’s smart –fuck, I don’t have the hour it’s gonna take to bury my father and you want me lead your god damn task force?”_

_“I want you to keep my number,” Deaton slid a card across the desk, “and think about it.”_

_“Forget it,” Derek huffed, turning to leave without taking the card._

_“I can help you get her, Derek.” Deaton called to Derek’s back, “Her and everyone else. I can give you means, and protection. No red tape, not if you lead this task force. I want these people off of my island, Derek, and I’m asking you to be the one who gets them off.”_

_Derek turned to face him, resigned._

~*~*~*~

“I’m not joining your dumb task force, Hale.” Stiles said with a sigh, a few hours later as Derek shut the door and made himself at home in _Stiles’ fucking apartment._

“This place’s a dump,” he thumped the wall lightly. It was one of those small, dingy studio apartments that college students usually rented. “Tell me you don’t bring your kid here,”

“My –how, tell me please, how the hell do you know that I even have a kid?” Derek silently pointed to the only picture in the room. It was of Stiles and Erica, the little monkey had her arms wrapped around her father’s neck and her face was scrunched up as Stiles laid one on her cheek.

“Eat me,” Stiles muttered, unthinkingly “and also, one, where I take my daughter is none of your business and two, I’m not joining your little circus, Hale. No matter how much you flutter your long-ass eyelashes at me.”

“They’re never going to accept or respect you in the HPD,” Derek snapped, “You’re always going to be the mainland haole with the stick up his ass and the dumb t-shirts. One day their lack of respect is going to cost you your life.”  

Stiles blinked at him twice before blurting, “That has got to be the most words you’ve ever said in your life. I’m almost impressed.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” he huffed, ignoring Stiles. “I’ve got jurisdiction, and I’m telling you that we are now partners.” Stiles blinked at him again.

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“Do _not_ —

~*~*~*~

“So, what do you have?” Derek asked as he walked into Stiles’ kitchen, pulled out a couple beers and the fucker basically made himself at home.

“I hate him,” Stiles whispered to the ceiling, in hopes that whichever divine entity actually existed would heed his calls and smite Derek. “I actually hate him. If this is punishment for something I’ve done then I’m sorry—

“Stilinski,”

“Yeah, yeah” he sighed, accepting the offered beer. “Well, for one thing, there’s no way in hell that Kate could’ve smuggled those weapons onto the island herself, even she’s not that good. So, before you swooped in and ruined my life, I was checking to see who’d deal with the likes of her. Give her weapons and whatnot.”

“A lot of people would deal with her,” Derek said slowly, gracing Stiles with an eye roll.

“Right,” he agreed, reaching for the file on his nightstand. “Right, yeah so the list was a bit more extensive than I thought it would be, but I went ahead and did ballistics report on the bullet used to, um, with your dad. I found a match from a robbery case a couple years back. I was in the process of getting a warrant on a,” he ruffled through the file, “Grayson Hunter, but of course the fact that I’m a haole—

“Don’t,” Derek grimaced, “don’t say that. Your accent’s really awful.”

“My accent?” Stiles stammered, “You’re worried about my accent? What about the fact that they—

“Nope,” Derek interrupted, “I don’t care.”

“But—

“No.”

“Your dad was a white dude!” Stiles flailed at Derek, but the of course there was the face and the hair and god, Stiles really, _really_ hated this guy. “You know what? No. Just shut up and call your best friend, the Governor, and get us a damn warrant. No. Nope, don’t give me that look. I don’t want to hear it.”

~*~*~*~

“I don’t appreciate getting shot,” Stiles itched at the bandages around his bicep, “I really don’t appreciate getting shot. Did I mention that I’m really not fucking okay with getting shot?”

“I—

“ _You,_ ” Stiles snapped, smacking the dashboard of the Camaro with his uninjured hand “are going to shut the fuck up and listen. I don’t appreciate getting shot. I repeat, since your skull is apparently pretty fucking thick, I do not appreciate getting shot. I have a child. A beautiful baby girl with the biggest eyes in the world. I would like to see her grow up, graduate college with a hundred degrees because she’s smarter than her parents and maybe one day she’ll get married to some poor schmuck and hopefully I’ll get to meet my grandbabies and spoil them rotten.”

“Stiles, I—

“You are still talking! Why are you still talking! Why couldn’t you talk this much earlier today? When we go blind into an apparently known arms dealer’s territory, I would like to know! I would like you to use your words, and tell me this vital information! I would like to know so I can know when to duck when a machine gun is fired at my face! Do you understand me, Hale?”

“I’m sorry,”

“Wh- I’m sorry, there must be sand in my ears, but what was that?”

“I am sorry,” Derek spoke around his clenched jaw, knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I should’ve waited for backup but I didn’t and you got hurt because you had my back. It won’t happen again.”

A beat of silence and then—

“Tell me, please, about how much of your soul do you think just died with that apology?”

“Small, inconsequential portion of it.” Derek replied, a small smile on his lips. “I’ll survive.”

“Frankly, I don’t believe that we won’t be put in another situation like that because you seem like the type that will go poking at things that might explode.” Stiles looked out of the window, “and I’ll only accept your apology and this job –because _fuck_ your jurisdiction, Hale– on one condition.”

“Which is?”

“No more withholding information,” Stiles cut a hand through the air when Derek looked like he was going to say something, “No. _No,_ Derek. Not for any reason, not ever. Not for your G.I Joe complex, not for your daddy issues and not for any other bullshit excuse. If we’re doing this, then we trust each other. I’m serious. We are partners in all the senses of the word. You cannot hold out on me –ever.”

Derek parked in front of the precinct, and turned to look at Stiles with an unreadable expression. The silence went on for too long.

“Yeah,” he finally answered, “fair enough,”

~*~*~*~

"We can't go in blind again, Derek." Stiles muttered,

“Yes, Stiles.” Derek hissed. “You already said that. Three times.”

They tried and failed to watch the house without being sighted. The Camaro was as inconspicuous as driving a squad car into a neighborhood you’d get shot at for wearing the wrong colors.

"And we can't go undercover either,” Stiles went on, ignoring Derek’s eyebrows. “'cause I'm the mainland haole and you're Derek freaking Hale. They'd recognize us in a second."

"Yeah," Derek agreed, "I think I might have someone who could help us."

~*~*~*~

"I'm not a cop anymore, brah." Scott McCall sighed, twisting his hands. "I'm sorry, Derek. But I can't help you."

"You mean you don't want to," Derek snarled, suddenly at the very end of his already short fuse.

"Whoa, man." Stiles unthinkingly put a hand on Derek's arm, only to remove it on fear of losing it. Freaking ninja Navy Seals, Stiles already got shot once today."Let me?" he whispered, only to Derek, who got up and left with a huff.

"So," Stiles drew out the word as he took Scott in. Scott was all tanned skin, high cheekbones and heartfelt smiles. "Tell me your story, man. Being the new haole in town—

"Your accent, brah." Scott grimaced, "You really gotta work on your accent."

"My acc- yeah, no, we're not talking about my accent. Why won't you help us, Scott? A cop doesn't stop being a cop when they lose their badge."

“I don’t owe you anything,”

Stiles raised a brow.

"I lost control," Scott blurted, "I was put in a situation that I couldn't handle and I beat some bastard half to death, you got that, haole? People around here don't trust me with a badge no more. Hell, I don’t trust me with a badge. So, yeah, I stopped being a cop."

"Mmm," Stiles hummed, more like stalled. Police brutality was serious, and Stiles was out of his league. But Derek, daddy-issues Derek, explosives-loving Derek, big-hulking-ball-of-care Derek seemed to think that this was a good idea.

Which probably meant it wasn’t, but Stiles was wrapped around the dude’s little finger, apparently.

"Derek grew up here, right?" Stiles asked, Scott looked confused at the question but nodded nonetheless. "So, he already knows your story, right?"

Another nod,

"But for whatever reason, he still wants you to join our little group of freaks." Scott opened his mouth to protest, "What's with you islanders and interrupting? Don't interrupt, it's rude. Also, listen to me. I haven't known Derek for a whole day and even I can tell you that he isn't the type to just hand out second chances. Amirite?"

This nod was slow, frown sharp.

“This,” Stiles stabbed the table with a finger, and a grin. “This is your second chance, Scott.”

“What if I screw up again?” Scott whispered, but Stiles knew resigned when he saw it. He’s been wearing that same god damn expression all day.

“We’ll be there to hold you back, buddy.” Stiles grinned, leaning back in the chair, “specifically Derek in his hulking Navy Seal glory,”

~*~*~*~

“Right,” Scott eyed the house, “Yeah, no, brah. I can’t go in there either, because they’d recognize me. I arrested Hunter’s brother once.”

Derek’s jaw clenched tighter, and Stiles squashed down the urge to poke at the joint just to see if it would loosen.

“But,” Scott seemed hesitant to say the next words, “I know someone who might…well, they might be perfect for this.”

“Well?” Stiles pushed, looking from Derek to Scott. “Who is it? Why are you glaring at each other?”

“No,” Derek snapped, at Scott. “ _No._ ”

“Don’t be so lolo, brah.” Scott frowned, “She’s our best bet, and you know it.”

~*~*~*~

“Howzit, brah?” The bikini-clad woman looked up from her surf board with a grin that nearly blinded Stiles. She wrapped herself around Scott in a tight hug making the usually relaxed man tense and flush red beneath the tanned skin. “It’s been a while.”

“Right,” Stiles waved a hand, “while this is great and all, I mean, really you’re very pretty it’s making my day so much better. I still don’t get what the hell we’re doing here.”

“Stiles,” Derek sighed softly, rubbing at his temples. “This is Allison. Allison Argent.”

Stiles turned back towards the woman with his mouth hanging open and then back to Derek and then back to her. He couldn’t even begin to imagine the headache that Derek had right then.

“She’s – Oh my god, she isn’t?”

“Yeah,” Derek nodded, not looking at her despite that fact that she watched him with wide, sad eyes. “Her niece.”

“She’s also a cop,” Scott interrupted, glaring at them both. “Or she will be. She’s graduating from the academy in a few days. They don’t know her on the streets yet, and she’s an Argent. They’ll think that she’s following in her aunt’s footsteps or something.”

“Nah,” Derek shook his head, still avoiding her gaze. “She’s still green, man. I can’t send her in there.”

“You can,” she choked, and cleared her throat roughly. She jutted her chin stubbornly; the overall affect was ruined by the tremble in her hands. “I’m an Argent. We learn to fight before we learn to walk.”

 “Well, I don’t trust you.” Derek bit out, glaring somewhere past her head.

“I’m not her,” her brow was clenched, and she was so earnest that Stiles had to look away. “Derek, I promise you I am not Kate or Gerard. You gotta give me a chance before writing me off.”

~*~*~*~

“Hulking Navy Seal glory, huh?”

“What?” Stiles squawked, hands fumbling over the wire he was trying to sew into the delicate seams of Allison’s dress. He swallowed with a click. Derek grinned, turning back to his computer but not before Stiles saw the flush climbing up his neck.

“Nothing,” he hummed, “just couldn’t help but overhear some of your conversation with Scott.”

“Shut up and do your work,” Stiles mumbled into the needle and thread, ignoring Scott’s silent laughter from the opposite corner.

~*~*~*~

“No,” Stile snapped as Grayson fucking Hunter took a picture of a dress-less Allison. The arms dealer had said something unintelligible about having a mole in the police precinct and sent the picture. No matter how hard Stiles tried to trace the number, it kept bouncing him off of random towers and they simply didn’t have the time it would need to pinpoint its location. They were utterly fucked because Allison may not be known as a cop in the streets yet, but any cop would recognize her as a rookie. Whoever this mole was could get her killed. “No, no, no. Get her out. We have to get her out, right now. He’ll kill her.”

“No, we don’t.” Scott’s eyes practically burned holes into the small screen, watching as Allison shuffled and did her best to look small and scared. “She’s tougher then she looks. Wait.”

Stiles looked over at Derek whose jaw was clenched so hard that Stiles pitied the guy’s poor dentist. Derek met Stiles’ gaze and shook his head once. _Wait._

“I’m not wearing a wire so; can I put my dress back on?” They heard her ask, voice tight as the muscles in her back.

“Hmm,” Hunter hummed, leering at her. “I don’t know guys, what do you think?” The three other men in the room –armed men, they were armed and Allison was so fragile looking and Stiles was going to have a panic attack– jeered at her.

“I think,” Hunter spoke as she slipped her dress back on, “that Kate Argent’s niece shouldn’t have to ask a nasty crook like me where her aunt is—

The beep of a text cut him off, Hunter checked his phone and looked up at Allison with an angry expression and—

“Now,” Derek snarled, getting out of the van quickly. Stiles had already taken out his gun and they were crashing into the house shooting at anything that wasn’t Allison. Because fuck back up, fuck the mole, and fuck Grayson Hunter. Stiles, cheesy as hell, thought about the meaning of ohana and what a good movie Lilo and Stitch was when he tossed Allison her gun and she dimpled at him before shooting a guy in the kneecap.  

~*~*~*~

Save for a bullet wound that grazed off a chunk of the man’s thigh, and a shiner as a parting gift from Allison, Hunter was in, more or less, one piece. Scott and Stiles were in the dank interrogation room circling around the man like vultures.

“Mr. Hunter,” Stiles drawled, flipping through the man’s impressively thick file. “You’re being charged with illegal weapons possession, and are being held on the suspicion of being an accessory to the murder of Office Michael Hale and withholding evidence on the whereabouts of international terrorist Katherine Argent. Among a shitload of other charges, of course.”

“I want my lawyer,” Hunter leered, letting his eyes rake over Stiles slowly. “And you on your knees, but I think I’ll be okay with just a lawyer for now.”

“You son of a—

Stiles put a hand on the small of Scott’s back, and shook his head sharply at the man who looked seconds away from leaping over the table and throttling Hunter.

“That’s cute. I mean really, look at me, I’m swooning.” Stiles smiled slowly, the man’s smirk quivered and fell. He slid a picture across the table, and watched the recognition spark across Grayson Hunter’s face. “That’s your wife and son, in case you didn’t recognize them. Do you know where they are right now?”

“I—

“I do,” Stiles let the smile fall from his face, “Your wife, Dina, is at home right now. She’s making roast for dinner. Your son, Eli, is at his friend Coco’s house doing a school project on dolphins. They’re safe, for now.”

“You can’t do shit,” Hunter snarled, spit gathering at the corners of his mouth as he jerked roughly against the handcuffs in his attempt to get to Stiles from across the table. “You can’t do fucking shit, Imma sue you all to hell and back.”

“If you go to prison on these charges,” he spoke slowly, carefully “your wife, your beautiful Russian born wife will mysteriously get sent back to Russia with your son. What was Dina running from, all those years ago? Do you think Eli will survive it? Huh, Grayson?”

But Hunter had his eyes shut tight, and was rocking slightly –suddenly broken, suddenly so much smaller than he was mere minutes before.

“What kind of cops are you?” He whispered, resigned.

Stiles leaned back in the chair unable to muster the energy to even smirk in triumph. Scott strode forward and quietly explained to Hunter the options he had available. Stiles wanted to throw up. Stiles wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

~*~*~*~

“Here,” Stiles gave Derek the slip of paper with the address. He felt like he was sending Derek off to a war they both knew he wouldn’t survive –no matter what state they came back in, because Derek didn’t flinch away from every picture of Kate because she killed his father. It was so much more than that, Stiles knew, but he just couldn’t figure it out.

“Are you okay?” Derek asked, slowly.

“No,” Stiles laughed, humorlessly. “I just used a man’s wife and kid against him. I literally, _literally_ told this guy that I’ve never met in my life that I’d let his seven year old kid die if he didn’t give up what he knew.”

“Stiles—

“My daughter’s seven,” he interrupted, “she’s seven years old.”

Derek’s hand curled over his forearm. They sat in silence.

~*~*~*~

“Oh baby,” Kate smile was all sharp edges and lowered lashes, her gun was shinning in the dimming light of the Hawai’i sunset. It looked repulsive pressed against Scott’s temple. “This one’s a cutie, Derek. Look at those adorable brown eyes. I could just eat him up.”

“Kate, just—please. He’s not –this is about you. And me. Just –I’ll put my gun down, just let him go.” Derek had his gunned pointed at her, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move because no one knew Kate like he did. No one knew how easy it would be for her to pull that trigger the way Derek did.

No one knew Derek the way Kate did, either. No one knew how easy it was to make him –in his hulking Navy Seal fucking glory –freeze up and choke when it was someone he cared about at the other end of a gun.

Funny enough, they both didn’t know jack shit about Stiles.

He considered shooting her right between the eyes because Scott was on his knees and shaking and Stiles suddenly really hated her. He hated her because Allison would have to graduate with a bullet shaped hole in her shoulder courtesy of her own fucking aunt. Stiles decided that was too much for even Deaton to attempt to brush under the rug, so he made due with sneaking behind her and—

“Hey, bitch.”

She spun around in surprise, and was met with the butt of Stiles’ gun connecting with her face.

~ *~*~*~

Stiles doesn’t care to remember a lot of things. He just doesn’t have the time, energy or patience to clog up his already cluttered mind with things that wouldn’t someday come in handy, but there are some memories that will probably never leave him –His mom dying. Meeting Lydia. Meeting Erica. Watching Erica die. The 19 hours of labor it took for baby Erica to come into the world. Finding out about Lydia cheating. The divorce. Lydia marrying the man she cheated on Stiles with. The move.

But meeting Derek Hale, Jesus fucking Christ, he’s never wanted to forget about something more. Stiles wanted to sleep for the next three weeks.

“Thanks,” Scott whispered, as they watched the ambulance take a still unconscious Kate Argent far, far away. “I didn’t even see you there. I don’t know how—

“Don’t,” Stiles replied, hand finding Scott’s arm and squeezing. “We’re a team, man. I punch out evil villains for you, and totally expect you to babysit my kid on short notice.” Scott was pale and shaky but huffed out something close to a laugh for Stiles’ sake.

“I’m glad we met,”

“Me too, man.” Stiles clapped his shoulder gently, “Go home. Get some rest.” Scott smiled weakly before dragging himself away. Stiles turned to drag his own weary bones to his shitty ass apartment and very nearly swallowed his tongue when he turned to find Allison just standing there, staring at him. Her dress was torn and bloodied from the wound in her shoulder, her hair a mess –she didn’t look 24, right then. She looked ancient and tired.   

“Hi,” he croaked, rubbing his chest, right over his pounding heart.

“Hi,” she replied, narrowing her eyes and getting straight to the point. “No one’s ever been able to sneak up on Kate.”

“Um—

“You saved Scott,” she went on, speaking over him and rubbing at her injured shoulder “when I couldn’t. When even Derek couldn’t. Kate’s gonna come after you.”

“I—

“I’m glad you’re on our side, Stiles.” she stepped forward, and pressed her lips to his temple.

“Allison, I’m—

“Don’t apologize,” she dimpled at him, walking backwards. “Aloha, Stiles.”

“Aloha,” he groaned into his hands.

~*~*~*~

He went home that night, aching for his shitty ass pullout, maybe drinking himself into a stupor and curling around the teddy bear that Erica had left in his apartment from her last visit.

“Fuck,” he gasped and clutched at the doorway, when he turned on the light and found Derek just _there_. “Fuck! Jesus Christ, man! Why? _Why_?”

 “Sorry,” yet the asshole wasn’t even a little sorry if the smirk on his lips was anything to go by. Stiles glared at him as he toed off his shoes and threw himself face first onto the conveniently ready pullout –conveniently ready because his lazy ass hadn’t bothered to close it up that morning.

“Whaddyawant,” he mumbled into the pillow, and was met with silence. He pulled his head back to look up at Derek who was dragging his eyes up from Stiles’ ass –which, okay, yeah not when he felt like he’d been run over by a truck. No. Just no. Derek cleared his throat roughly, and ran his hand through his already wild hair.

“I officially transferred to the reserves,” he said to his lap,

“So you’re staying. Officially staying.”

“Yeah,”

“Good.” Stiles huffed, sitting up. “That’s great, man. It is, isn’t it? You are okay with this?”

Derek opened his mouth, and closed it before glaring off into the distance.

“I haven’t,” he started, and stopped.

“God, you are really bad at this communication thing, aren’t you? Is it because you weren’t held as a child? Do you need a hug?”  

“Shut up, Stiles.” He huffed, and Stiles waved for him to go with a tired grin. “You said you’d only do this if we, you’d only be my…if there was full disclosure.”

“Yes.” Stiles agreed, slowly. He’d knew, he just knew that he was going to hear something awful right then and there. He felt it deep in his gut. “I did say that. I meant that.”

“Kate,” Derek started and then rushed forward, nearly stumbling over his words in his haste to spite them out. “Kate and I were together –when I was younger.”

“Oh,” Stiles breathed, slumping back into the bed in shock. The ceiling had stains everywhere. “That, Jesus, Derek. That wasn’t in the file.”

“No,” he agreed, but didn’t bother to explain. “It wasn’t.”

“Does Allison know? Scott?”

“Allison,” Derek sighed, “yeah, Allison knows. Kate told her.”

“That, my friend” Stiles rubbed tiredly at his eyes, “that’s such fuckery, I don’t even know what to say to you that won’t completely, you know, sound like a bunch of bullshit.” 

“There’s nothing to say,” Derek smiled, “I’ve come to terms with it.”

“Therapy does wonders, I know.” Stiles snorted, loudly. “You really okay with being here?”

“I haven’t been home, here, in years. It’s…difficult. Being a civilian again.” He stood and strode to the door. “It going to take me a while to get used to it.”

“Well,” Stiles clicked his tongue, “good thing you’re stuck with us now. If the last 24 hours are anything to go by we are, without a doubt, the most relentless bastards in history. Before you know it, you’ll be settled back into civilization.”

“Thank you,” he whispered, flicking off the light. “For today,”   

“Yeah, yeah.” Stiles replied, suddenly feeling flushed in the dark. “Aloha. You’re welcome. Whatever. Get out of my apartment, Hale.”

~*~*~*~

**Author's Note:**

> I know it's abrupt-ish but I honestly don't have the ability to write more. Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it a little bit.


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